


Take It All, Baby

by Cyberrat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Fisting, Incest, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They try it for the first time - and it's an absolute success, if Stiles' drooling contentment is anything to go by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take It All, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoMoMomma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/gifts).



> Sometimes I do porn battles with MoMoMomma. I don't know why I always do this to me, cause her fics fry my brain cells in the most delicious way, but obviously I'm a glutton for pain, so there's that :P
> 
> WARNING: Please be aware that this story contains incest of the father/son- variety. Also take note of the kinks in the Tag section.

Stiles had thrown one arm over his face when the squelching of the lube had begun. His stomach – concave while he was lying on his back, making him look that much younger – was fluttering with the panting gasps he was taking. The embarrassed flush was by now reaching his plump, red nipples and John thought he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Stiles,” he growled, twisting the two fingers he had inside the boy’s passage in a way that ensured an especially filthy sound. Stiles moaned in mortification, mouth falling wide open beneath where he had draped one arm over his eyes.

“Daaaaddyyyy...” he whined, thigh muscles spasming and asshole clenching deliciously around his intruding fingers. “Don’t _do_ that!”

“Do what?” he pulled them out and pressed the tip of his ring finger tight against the other two, gently starting to worm their way inside the clutching heat.

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed a few times fruitlessly, his hips jerking against the intrusion, hungry hole opening up beautifully for the invading digits. It was a fucking breathtaking sight.

Only when John added a bit more lube and started in rotating his wrist and carefully spreading his fingers again, ensuing in more nasty squelching, did the boy find his voice again – high and breathless as it was.

“D-D-Don’t do it that way! It’s embarrassing,” Stiles whined, the red, leaking cock snuggled against his belly telling John exactly how ‘embarrassing’ it was.

“Aw... are you telling me I should stop?” he purred, holding his boy’s slim hip with one hand and slowly starting to pull out his fingers with the other. John grinned as Stiles’ hands suddenly flew down between his trembling legs and held on to his forearm for dear life. His eyes were large and wet looking.

“Don’t stop, Daddy!” he almost sobbed. “Please, please don’t stop... need it so bad... Your fingers feel so fucking amazing. Please give me one more? Oh Daddy, please?”

John felt a sizzle of lust run down his spine. He rotated his wrist again, stretching his thumb and stroking across the soft skin of Stiles’ tight balls.

“You want another finger, sweetheart?” he rasped, hooking the three already buried inside and rubbing along the inner rim of Stiles’ twitching hole. The boy’s eyes rolled back into his head, mouth going slack.

John patiently waited for his brain to reboot, all the while rubbing and tugging, setting all the nerve endings at the boy’s entrance alight until the wet muscle looked inflamed. Like an obscene, red mouth sucking his fingers in.

“Please yes... Daddy...” Stiles whined, spreading his legs just that little bit wider. John hummed, pulling his fingers out with great care and shushing his boy’s desperate whining. To distract him, he lay his hand down over Stiles’ throbbing cock, letting the boy rut up against his palm while he pressed more lube into is right hand by compressing the tube beneath his knee (and trying to set a mental memo to buy a pump bottle next time).

John’s brow was furrowed just the slightest bit in concentration. His pinkie was gently rubbing against the outer rim, prodding playfully while Stiles made high, whimpering noises with every breath he expelled.

“You alright?” John asked gently, taking his hand from the boy’s dick in order to not over-stimulate him just yet. He leaned forward, stroking soothingly Stiles’ side and peering into the teen’s flushed face. “Stiles? Hey, buddy... you hear me?” he asked when the boy merely tried to wriggle his hips further down.

“Y-yeah... just... give it to me? Please?” Those gorgeous brown eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide as they stared at John. He hummed in affirmation but kept eying the slack face while gingerly pushing his pinkie inside, leaving his fingers curled into a tight tube for the beginning, so the stretch wasn’t too abrupt.

Stiles tipped his head back, exposing his throat and the bobbing Adam’s apple, while his legs were swaying open and closed again in seemingly unconscious movements.

John frowned and pulled back, seating himself more properly between his son’s legs.

“Everything alright? Still feel good, baby?” he asked while manoeuvring Stiles’ legs on top of his shoulders, opening the boy up for anything he had to give him. The whine ripped out of the straining throat was both slutty and not really human.

“So good... oh god... move them? Please?”

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, John started rotating his wrist again, moving his fingers a little outward and watching in dumb amazement as the clutching rim actually stretched _wider_ than before. He let out a long, hard breath, shifting his hips to alleviate the pressure on his cock just a little bit.

“You look amazing, babyboy,” he told him, voice tight as he felt the heat enveloping his digits.

He worked his fingers slowly. Carefully. Stiles was whining constantly and John needed to hold his hips down so he would wriggle and injure himself in his eagerness to spear himself open on his daddy.

“You feel that, baby?” he rasped after a while, his heart beating a frantic tattoo in his chest as he stared at how he had four fingers flat inside his boy’s ass, up to his knuckles. Stiles was panting open mouthed, fingers curled tightly into the bedding. “Those are my knuckles, honey. Think you can take them? Take them for your Daddy, so I can shove my palm into you?”

Stiles sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut. A few tears were trickling down his temples even as he begged plaintively, “Please, Daddy! Please... wanna take them all. Wanna take your whole hand. Oh pleeeheheeaase.”

John groaned deep in his chest, cock jumping eagerly at the mental image of his little boy stretched out on his whole fucking fist.

“Oh god... you sure, baby? You sure you wanna be stretched out on your Daddy’s fist?”

And even as he asked, John gently pushed forward – pushed and pushed, listening to Stiles’ whining becoming more desperate with the increasing pressure, the slender chest heaving. John needed to shush him gently, bring him down from the verge of hysteria, even as his knuckles overcame the tight stretch of the tender asshole and popped inside, Stiles letting out a weak scream and scrambling for his Daddy’s free hand which John gave him more than willingly, letting his baby crush his fingers as much as he wanted to.

“Fuck... You’re so hot inside... You feel like a furnace,” John croaked, watching rapt as his hand slowly shoved into his baby, until his thumb restricted any further movements. Stiles’ rim was a band of tight fire around the back of his hand, his knuckles pressing into the wet walls of his son’s channel.

He experimentally started wriggling his four fingers – just slightly rubbing them along the inner walls, trying to feel the smooth, silky texture. Stiles fucking _wailed_ at that, head thrown back and fingernails biting into John’s hand.

The man froze, heart stuttering in his chest with the fear of having hurt his son – his most precious possession – just as the teen started moaning like a slut and begged him not to stop, “Oh Daddy please don’t stop, I love you so much, love this, love being spread on your hand, please give me more, please oh please, I’ll be so good, I promise just gimme your hand, need it so bad.”

John let him babble – let the mindless chatter wash over him and fuel his desire to see his son all spread out and vulnerable before him. He rotated his hand gently, rubbing everything he could reach and gently thrusting in and out, stretching his boy again and again around his knuckles, until he pulled back once more and, under the plaintive sobbing and babbling of his son to please come back, slicked his whole right hand with the lube, getting it drenched until the substance started dripping from his digits.

He adjusted his son’s legs on his shoulders and sat there for a moment, just staring at the still gaping, cherry red hole, wondering what in hell he was about to do to his baby.

However, he could not stop. He simply couldn’t. He needed to see and feel his boy stretched around his _fist_.

So he started working his fingers in again. Slowly. One by one. The slutty hole opened up beautifully to him – just sucking every digit into Stiles’ little, hungry body.

“Oh babyboy... just look at you. So beautiful. Perfect for me,” John rasped, and smiled a little as Stiles’ cock – deflated from how excited and nervous he was – was twitching and starting to fill up again. Eager whore.

Getting his thumb into the action was, in the end, shockingly easy. He tucked it into the palm of his hand, trying to make it as narrow as possible – a feat in and off itself, since John’s hands were fucking _large_ – and gingerly shoved. Once again, he held Stiles’ hips securely against the bed, his brows drawn together into an involuntary scowl as he watched in concentration as his knuckles approached the puffy entrance. Stiles was starting to whine again – needy, little noises that went straight to his father’s balls and sizzled there deliciously.

The boy hiccupped softly as they popped inside and the unholy strain was taken away. The rest slipped shockingly easy inside – Stiles’ rim sliding down the natural slope of his hand, in order to just clamp down around his wrist.

John blinked a few times, staring and holding his breath, the knowledge that he had his whole _hand_ inside his boy short-circuiting his brain.

“I... I’ve got it inside, baby,” he whispered, voice so hoarse and weak. Stiles whimpered, one arm thrown across his face again.

“Oh god... oh Daddy... Oh... Oh...” There really wasn’t much coherence to be garnered from the sobbing mess Stiles had been reduced into.

The heat and slickness around John’s hand was breathtaking. Very gingerly, he rotated his wrist, getting a little movement in there and moaning low as Stiles started wailing again, big tears of over-stimulation rolling down his temples.

“Daaaddyyyyyy,” he sobbed, sweet little hole spasming around John and making him feel like he was the fucking _universe_ for his son. He, quite literally, had him in his hand. He could feel the frantic heartbeat in the walls holding him so snugly. It felt like a humming bird’s.

“I can feel your heartbeat, little boy,” he rasped, rubbing his fingers gingerly against the walls. “I can feel your juices... and your body’s encasing me so warm and welcoming... such a good boy, Stiles... my good boy. You’re doing so well. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

He continued crooning soothing nonsense towards his sobbing child. Stiles’ body seemed to be absolutely confused as to how to interpret everything – his cock was, despite it being soft again, trickling pre-come out and smearing it across the quivering abdomen of the boy. John watched him like a hawk, only rotating his flattened hand incrementally and moving his fingers carefully, watching for a sign of – negative – distress.

“You’re so good, Stiles. My pretty boy. Look so amazing spread out for me. I’m gonna make a fist now, baby. Is that alright? You’re still with me?”

Stiles was sniffling, his bottom lip red like a cherry where he was valiantly trying to not bite it through. His eyes were large and almost crazy as they landed on his father, still kneeling between his legs with Stiles’ calves on his shoulders.

A shaky nod sealed the deal.

John’s nails were, as a rule, always ridiculously short. As a police man he had to take every eventuality into account and a criminal suing his way out because of a few scratches while arresting him was nothing he wanted to risk.

Nevertheless, he was painfully aware of how he could scratch the sensitive, soft walls of Stiles’ intestines, as he slowly curled his fingers towards his palm.

“You accommodate me so beautifully, baby,” he whispered, absolutely in awe about how welcoming his baby’s body was. Stiles’ rim twitched around his wrist in answer, making him moan deep in his chest.

When his hand was building a fist, John was wondering how it was even possible that Stiles’ belly wasn’t protruding like he was pregnant. The body around it felt so fucking _tight_. It was ridiculous. He fumbled with his free hand, snatching the lube and squirting it with little coordination across his forearm, spreading the liquid hastily, before starting to move –

And that pretty much was the end of the beginning. Stiles yowled, his legs spasming around John’s head. He threw his head back, the fingers of one hand crushing John’s fingers and the other hand clutching at the bedding as he sobbed and moaned in a crazy jumble that sounded utterly undignified – and like music to John’s ears.

He moved only a centimetre or two – just gently rocking his fist into the quivering body. Yet, he could not only feel the heartbeat, but the fucking _breath_ of his son. It felt like he was nearly holding his heart in his hand – as if he could start stroking his stomach from the inside out.

It was crazy. Crazy and absolutely _touching_. Never before had John been aware of this amount of sheer _trust_ placed right into his lap.

His son was a broken down mess – sobbing and wailing and screaming, clear fluid running out of his nose and lips twisted with his desperate gasping – but still so utterly trusting. Trusting that his daddy wouldn’t hurt him. That his daddy would take him through the confusing, strange emotions. That his daddy would see this ugly – _beautiful_ – side of himself and still _love_ him unconditionally.

John kept fucking him gently, pressing kisses against Stiles’ knees and thighs – wherever he could reach in his current position – and rubbing his knuckles against the teen’s prostrate, trying to shove him along – keep the overbearing stimulus to be pleasure, not pain.

“You gonna come for me, baby? You’re gonna come for your Daddy while you’re all stretched out on his fist?” he rasped, eyes alight on Stiles’ wrecked face and the way his mouth opened into a perfect, little ‘o’, before he started nodding frantically, obediently...

...and just _came_. Just like that. Dick red and raw looking and _limp_ but still coming – his come flowing out in a strangely watery pool, but obviously an experience in and off itself, if the full body shudders and tightly clutching channel was anything to go by.

The boy was utterly silent, while he came – strange for a screamer like Stiles, but probably not surprising in the light of what had happened the past hour.

“So good... you’re so good,” John kept murmuring, trying to distract his beautiful boy from when he very slowly and carefully extracted his hand – however, Stiles seemed to be deeply down in that fuzzy, soft headspace, eyes open but unseeing and mouth slack and unmoving for the first time that night. His body was lax, sprawled out carelessly as John slipped his legs slowly from his shoulders.

He wanted to go and retrieve a towel for the mess on his baby’s belly, but he was loath to leave the side of his boy for even one second right now... so he just lay down beside him, arranging him until Stiles was snuggled up at his side.

He held his right hand up, staring dumbly at it, turning it this way and that. The skin was still eerily hot to the touch. Warmed, he knew, by Stiles’ inner body temperature. It was insane.

His dick still throbbed like a bitch, standing proud and almost angry in the air, beads of pre-come sliding down the sides. Maybe it would get to feel that heat first hand in a few minutes. Maybe. If his baby was still feeling generous with his body.

Until then, though... John would do his best to just silently worship his baby boy.

**Author's Note:**

> Still here? Liked it? Why don't you leave a little something on your way out :)
> 
> You can also join [ me ](http://cyberratting.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!
> 
> (Bonus: The fic was originally called 'Baby Gets His First Fist'... I'm such a dork omg)


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